


my spark spins only with you

by Peruse



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, M/M, Somnophilia, dubcon, hot rod is doing a bad thing but deadlock doesn't mind, it is fully consensual but neither of them know that?, someone tell them that they can just talk like normal people please, yknow if you guys could communicate that’d be nifty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peruse/pseuds/Peruse
Summary: Gingerly, he crept forward and eyed the ‘con, the mech had a few dents and was coated in soot and ash, but otherwise looked fine enough. Deadlock always looked good though. He looked good across the battlefield, looking like the reincarnation of Unicron but twice as deadly. Hot Rod mentally shook his helm and stopped a foot away.The mech looked….normal? As normal as any mech in recharge, low, even venting and offline optics. He didn’t look like the maniac, Decepticon reincarnation of Unicron or anything. Under the thick layer of grime he looked undisturbed and almost innocent if Hot Rod didn't know better -He did know better of course, of course he did. But even so, Hot Rod reached out and, finger on the trigger, he crouched down and with his free servo and smeared the ash over the mech’s insignia. It was scratched up, but bright and purple, the plating under his servo hummed with life. The speedster vented hotly into the air and drew his thumb further through the soot. Something warm danced across his spark and Hot Rod sat on his heels and stared at the revealed plating.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	my spark spins only with you

**Author's Note:**

> For CyanideOreo! I hope you like it, I think it's nifty! It was only supposed to be 1.5k words but uh.....Anyway, if you have ideas or prompts, or if you just wanna chat, feel free to hit me up on twitter @Tectonic420

Scavenging wasn’t Hot Rod’s favorite job, not even in the top ten. It was what he was _best_ at, yeah, but that didn’t mean he _liked_ it. It was just an ‘official’ way of saying, ‘go to fresh battlefields and tag ‘Cons that are either dying or close enough to dying that we can take ‘em for ‘better use’.’ It wasn’t hard but it _sucked_ to put it plainly and unless you were Hot Rod, it was reserved for punishment duty. 

But Hot Rod was from Nyon and _everyone_ knew what mechs from Nyon did. 

So, as soon as the battle was over, a nameless victory for the Autobots, he was ushered to a tent with his new temp boss, a busy, tired-looking Triage Medic named Axon. The grey mech barely looked at him before he was deemed in “-decent enough health to not be in here.”, and Hot Rod was given a shovel, a tagger, and sent off. 

* * *

The first body was always the hardest, a seeker charred to near slag. Instantly, Hot Rod’s optics focused on the shattered mess of the flyer’s cockpit and then to the empty spark chamber. It was easy gamma-quality and Hot Rod marked the body, turned away, and moved onto the next ‘Con. These weren’t good mechs, they weren’t Autobots, and they weren’t even alive. Hot Rod just held that to his spark and crouched next to another husk. 

It always got easier.

Gamma, flyer; alpha, tank; zeta, car; alpha –Autobot. Hot Rod blinked down at the dying mech, his processor scrambling out of autopilot. Clumsily, Hot Rod shoved his tools into subspace and crouched down next to the dying mech. His servos hovered above the body and he sent out an emergency beacon, almost immediately he got an acknowledgement ping from Axon with a rough eta.

Hot Rod’s optics skimmed down the mech’s frame, the minibot’s lower-bottom glass of his spark chamber was dust. Hot Rod wasn’t a medic, but it looked like pure luck that the mech was still alive.

Something, about the shot, the _precision_ of it, sent alerts ringing down his processor and he squinted into the air.

At the screech of sirens, Hot Rod looked up at the cloud of dust and threw himself over the minibot’s exposed spark chamber. Grit and dirt ran across his plating and Axon transformed on a dime, skidding to a halt. Instantly, the medic ordered him to apply pressure and crouched next to the mech, and Hot Rod abandoned all thoughts about precession and guns and did what he was told.

A groon later, vents whirring, the speedster sat back on his haunches and watched Axon peel off back to base with his patient. Hot Rod pushed himself up with a half-grin, spark lighter, and looked around the battlefield. Almost instantly, he spotted another body, huffed, and shuffled back to work.

Alpha, zeta, zeta, gamma, alpha, the list went on for joors, but eventually Hot Rod found himself alone. He looked around and sent out a sensor-burst, it came back negative and his shoulders slumped as he let out a low, long vent. He dragged his peds over to pile rubble, formed into a crude wall – a common ‘con tactic, and leaned against it. 

He looked over the deserted battlefield and tilted his helm up to stare at the sky. Suddenly, as if his processor realized that he was off the clock, his plating itched with murk and energon and he desperately wanted a shower. 

Hot Rod jumped onto the wall with a grin, balancing on his heels for a klick before he found his footing and rolled his shoulder. Peds light, he barely took a step before his systems jumped back into alert. Colors danced on his HUD and Hot Rod’s weapons systems kicked back online. 

Decepticon, active, gamma- him _._

_Deadlock._

…was unconscious – Hot Rod knew better than to think he was offline or something _stupid_. But the Decepticon was half-propped up against an opposing wall, his blaster a few feet away. Hot Rod jolted forward, jumped off the wall, snagged his own blaster out of subspace, and kicked the rifle away. It skittered across the ground and slammed loudly against the wall and Hot Rod winced. He tightened the grip on his own gun, spun on his heel, blaster warm and ready, but Deadlock didn’t move.

Gingerly, he crept forward and eyed the ‘con, the mech had a few dents and was coated in soot and ash, but otherwise looked fine enough. Deadlock always looked good though. He looked good across the battlefield, looking like the reincarnation of Unicron but twice as deadly. Hot Rod mentally shook his helm and stopped a foot away.

The mech looked….normal? As normal as any mech in recharge, low, even venting and offline optics. He didn’t look like the maniac, Decepticon reincarnation of _Unicron_ or anything. Under the thick layer of grime he looked undisturbed and almost innocent if Hot Rod didn't know better -

He did know better of course, of course he did. But even so, Hot Rod reached out and, finger on the trigger, he crouched down and with his free servo and smeared the ash over the mech’s insignia. It was scratched up, but bright and purple, the plating under his servo hummed with life. The speedster vented hotly into the air and drew his thumb further through the soot. Something warm danced across his spark and Hot Rod sat on his heels and stared at the revealed plating. 

He looked smaller in recharge, almost peaceful, less the battlefield mercenary he was and more like-

Deadlock was warm and steady under his palm and Hot Rod swallowed roughly. Slowly, _quietly,_ he dropped out of his crouch and onto his knees, leaned forward, and eyed up the mech’s frame.

Deadlock was all harsh angles and dark colors, thick and heavy, but like this he was almost _soft_. Hot Rod tilted his helm down and trailed his servo down the mech’s chassis, following the pattern of dents and gunshots. When his fingers reached his pelvic plating, Hot Rod stared at Deadlock’s thick waist and absentmindedly spun his fingers in tight circles on the mech’s hip. Heat spiraled through his lines and the speedster swallowed roughly. Abruptly, Hot Rod traced his fingers back up the path before, racing them up the Decepticon’s chassis. 

Deadlock’s fans clicked on and Hot Rod snatched his servo away. His optics shot to the Decepticon’s face, but Deadlock’s optics were still offline, face still slack in recharge. Slowly, the tension bled out of his shoulders and he dropped his optics back to Deadlock’s waist. For some reason, he had to fight a smile and he refused to think why. Instead, he tentatively placed his servo back onto the mech’s belly. 

The other mech didn’t even stir and Hot Rod’s fingers traced nonsensical patterns in the soot. Idly, his fingers wandered a bit lower and his optics followed and then went even _further_ down. Hot Rod’s vents kicked up a notch and he felt giddy and he bit his lip to stop himself from giggling. His fingers boldly skimmed Deadlock’s waist and, when the mech didn’t wake up, he ran his fingers in lines back and forth childishly.

With bright optics, Hot Rod hungrily eyed the mech’s thighs, they were thick and even through the dust, he could see the fine transformation seams and clean lines. His fingers itched to trace along the lines and feel the smooth plating. Deadlock’s fans hummed in the air and Hot Rod felt breathless and bold as he reached out and traced a long stripe down the Decepticon’s thigh.

Hot Rod shivered in anticipation and stared at the pretty picture, his spark felt like it could explode from excitement and would’ve let it. He didn’t have to _like_ Deadlock to admit the guy was massive, bold and huge and a good fighter with deadly aim and- too bad he was Megatron’s personal lapdog. Spark still spinning, he snarled at the mech in scorn and he smeared his servo down Deadlock’s thigh. It was huge and dwarfed his servo, tank-solid steel hummed under his palm, and Hot Rod’s anger melted away in a flood.

Abruptly, his optics darted to his other servo and he looked back at Deadlock’s lax face and then back to his servo. Slowly, he put the blaster on the ground and shoved it under his ankle. If he needed to, he’d definitely be able to grab it later, especially with the Decepticon trapped under him. His now-free servo reached out to the mech’s other thigh and Hot Rod gently squirmed himself closer between Deadlock’s thighs. 

Their knees knocked together lightly but Hot Rod didn’t look away from Deadlock’s face. The mech’s brow was furrowed a bit and he was slightly panting. It was so fragging _hot._ Hot Rod couldn’t look away, his spark was hot and vents were whirring. He felt overfull, full with anticipation for _something._ Optics bright, Hot Rod squeezed his servos, groping the plating, and slid them further up Deadlock’s shapely thighs. 

The mech under him let out a low groan and shifted his thighs even further apart. Hot Rod grinned at his luck and he shimmied even closer. Eager and spurred on, Hot Rod freely felt around but froze when his left servo brushed Deadlock’s white vanity plating,

Hot Rod felt coolant flood his lines, it sizzled against the heat pouring from his seams and he suddenly felt the urge to laugh. Instead, he focused on the line of tension that appeared between Deadlock’s optics. Hot Rod swallowed roughly, his thumb automatically rubbing soft circles across the _very_ pretty, and downright _dirty,_ red inlay on Deadlock’s paneling.

But the other mech didn’t wake up or move or shoot him or _anything_. Instead, the tension slowly, hesitantly smoothed back down into the softness of recharge and Hot Rod shut down his vocoder to avoid hysterical…something.

Was….Was Deadlock…. _faking?_ Was this a plan or a ploy or something? Some kinda weird Decepticon plot to get him to lower his guard or whatever or some weird, kinky slag? The speedster stared at Deadlock’s slack, easy face and suddenly remembered the blaster he kicked away and the easy way Deadlock’s thighs fit around him.

His spark spun in his chassis, off kilter and filled with something that Hot Rod couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – name. Instead, he ignored what just happened, pushed Deadlock’s face to the back of his processor, and focused back on the soft, pliant body underneath him. Or more specifically, the other mech’s panels.

Hot Rod grinned, shuffling his shoulders and smirked at the body under him and reached forward to the mech’s panels. However, he hesitated, fingertips barely touching and instead, fell back down to the mech’s thighs and slowly, tentatively traced delicate squiggles and random patterns onto the plating. 

There was no response, but Hot Rod didn’t expect one and he lazily trailed his fingers back up Deadlock’s plating. It was warm under his fingers and Hot Rod felt almost nervous, excited, and something _more._ Instead of putting a name to it, he softly ran his other servo in a soothing line down the other mech’s _thick_ thigh. Slowly, he braced himself, using Deadlock’s other thigh for stability, and breathed hotly over the panel, lips barely an inch away. He blew on it again before leaned back and cooly blew directly on his valve cover and pressed his thumb back down on the red inlay.

Deadlock shivered under him. And _opened_. 

Hot Rod didn’t laugh out loud, but it was close. He locked his vents down and slowly reached out to the soft mesh, Deadlock shifted slightly under him but otherwise didn’t move. The mech’s valve was shockingly soft and wet and plush and a bunch of other words he would’ve never used for the Decepticon _._ Hot Rod’s optics darted upwards, but the Deadlock was still doing…whatever his plan was. Hot Rod didn’t get it but his own valve was wet and his spike was pinging him, so if Deadlock was fine with whatever this was, he guessed it was okay. 

Some other itchy feeling danced in his spark and Hot Rod pushed it away. Instead, he slowly inched two fingers forward until they rested just below the entrance to his valve. For a fraction of a second he waited, before he slowly sunk in his fingertips to the knuckle. There was no resistance and Hot Rod gasped as Deadlock’s fans kicked up a notch.

_Awesome._

The body under him shifted but Hot Rod ignored it and instead leaned in closer. He could hear his own fans kick back on and then turn up a level and he pulled his fingers out slowly, only to pump them back in. Hot Rod smirked, glancing up at the other mech’s lax faceplates and used his thumb to circle Deadlock’s node. The mech’s hips followed and Hot Rod curled his fingers loosely, his knuckles dragging across the top of Deadlock’s valve. 

Hot Rod swallowed roughly at the sight. A flash of movement grabbed his attention and he watched, slack jawed, as Deadlock’s fingers spasmed and clenched into a loose fist. Hot Rod’s other servo let go of Deadlock’s thigh to palm roughly at his own panels. The panel retracted quickly and he dug his palm roughly into his spike and hissed under his denta.

_So fragging hot._

Hot Rod slowly dragged his fingers across the topmost nodes of Deadlock’s valve, rubbing them softly before slowly pulling them out. Hot Rod took a moment to circle the outer nodes of the valve before pushing his fingers back in. The Decepticon stretched around him easily, pliant and great and soft _,_ and Hot Rod humped his own fist. Hot Rod gave Deadlock’s node another swipe with his thumb and pushed in another finger. 

Deadlock tightened and Hot Rod stilled, his engine let out a low, soothing hum and he rubbed his knuckles against the side of his valve. Eventually, the mesh around his fingers loosened and he slipped in further. There was a low thunk and Hot Rod stared at his own servo as his fingers ran out of room. He swallowed a moan and pulled his fingers back to set up a slow, easy rhythm. 

The body under him was burning and Hot Rod knew he wasn’t much better. He swallowed down another laugh as he stared at his own servo finger-fucking Deadlock. It was loud and wet and there was no _way_ the Decepticon, one of _the_ Top Decepticons could recharge through it, but he was, or they were both playing the same, weird fragging game.

Either way, Hot Rod dug his palm roughly into his spike – it ached so hard he could _die –_ and watched how easily the ‘con’s valve took his fingers. Trails of silver lubricant were drooling out of his stuffed valve onto the ground and Hot Rod swiped his thumb in it, only to press it against Deadlock’s node. The mech under him arched and Hot Rod let out a silent laugh, his own vents screaming.

When Hot Rod finally pulled his fingers fully out, the Decepticon’s hips followed. Lubricant dropped to the ground between them but Hot Rod just ignored it. He pawed his own spike with enough pressure to bruise before he shoved his own servo away with a hiss and planted one hand back on Deadlock’s thigh and another on his waist. 

Hot Rod dug his fingers into the metal and pulled Deadlock closer to him, his kibble scraped across the ground but Hot Rod ignored it. He licked his lips and stared at Deadlock’s face, the Decepticon’s cheeks were flushed and he was panting lightly, but his optics were still off. Hot Rod’s thumb rubbed against the dark plating soothingly and in a single thrust he buried himself deep into Deadlock. 

Deadlock’s optics lit up bright, bright red instantly. His helm tilted back, optics wide, and he let out a voiceless scream. The Decepticon’s sharp claws dug into the ground and his legs spasmed and Hot Rod let out a throaty groan. Deadlock was tight and wet and honestly, this was pretty great, amazing, fragging _fantastic,_ better than great really, or anything that Hot Rod had ever _dreamed_ of. 

Hot Rod snapped his hips into Deadlock’s and set up a fast, brutal pace. He hiked the Decepticon’s hips up and without hesitation, they wrapped around his waist. 

“You’re so fragging _cool._ Hah-you’re _hot_ actually. _”_ Under him, Deadlock let out a shaky hiss.

“’Ha! Really? F-from an Autobot-“ Hot Rod pushed himself onto his knees, grabbed Deadlock’s thigh and changed the angle with a sharp thrust and the Decepticon cut himself off with a loud moan. An arm wrapped itself around Hot Rod’s neck and claws squeezed into his shoulder. Hot Rod hissed but barely a klik after, the Decepticon shivered and the air crackled.

Hot Rod kept going and Deadlock _whined_ as his second overload came almost as fast as his first. The speedster felt claws dig into his neck and he roughly pulled back, Deadlock’s aft scraped across the ground, but Hot Rod didn’t lose an ounce of momentum.

“Stop with that slag.” He hissed, the sound rough and guttural, the last thing he wanted to do was to explain to the medics how he got claw marks in this throat, _again._

Deadlock laughed but his claws pulled back the slightest, moving to rest against his throat instead of burying itself in his lines. But hey, Hot Rod would take any improvement--

“T-then come down here so I can mark you _properly.”_

Hot Rod’s pace staggered and his processor stumbled as he suddenly realized what line he – _they-_ crossed…But Deadlock was shivering so pretty under him and Hot Rod wasn’t even _close_ to finishing and--

Hot Rod shoved the thought back to the back of his processor and he picked up his pace. He tore his gaze away from Deadlock’s and stared at his own spike pounding the Decepticon’s valve. The larger mech was still moaning and panting and occasionally he let out a low whimper - and when he did, his claws inched _that_ much deeper into his shoulder - and Hot Rod vowed to just avoid looking the other mech in the optic. 

Instead he focused on the pretty sounds Deadlock was making, the burning plating under his servo, and the charge in his lines. The Decepticon’s other servo snaked out to wrap around him, his claws probably destroying the paint on his back. Hot Rod hissed as they dug into his spinal strut as Deadlock overloaded around his spike again, the pain mixing with his pride in a way that was way too hot. He could feel his own overload racing ahead and he pulled the larger mech against him, roughly rutting his spike against the back of the ‘Cons’s valve. 

Deadlock arched under him with another cry as he overloaded for the third time. With a groan, Hot Rod chased his own overload, slamming his spike over and over into Deadlock’s ceiling node. The mech under him _writhed_ as Hot Rod dragged out his overload. Distantly, Hot Rod had the idea to say something cool or witty but all he could focus on was how close he was and with his own yell, Hot Rod overloaded, flooding Deadlock’s valve with transfluid. The mech let out a low, shaky sob and Hot Rod hummed lowly and rubbed a soothing servo down his hip.

Under him, Deadlock went limp, collapsing fully onto the ground. Despite that, the Decepticon’s arms were still strong and Hot Rod was dragged down on top of Deadlock, nearly cradled against the taller mech’s chassis. It was close enough that he could feel the wheeze of the Decepticon’s vents against his audials. 

The smell of ozone was thick in the air and the Con’s optics were still nearly whited out. Hot Rod smirked down at Deadlock, and bathed in the blue glow of his optics, Deadlock actually looked… _good._ _Really good._ Hot Rod’s spark sang and he _really_ wished it would stop doing that. 

Instead, he shimmied his hips, his spike still hard, and Deadlock’s optics flashed back on and met his. For a moment they stared at each other in silence, but when Deadlock broke it to look down, Hot Rod jumped back into round two.

It was only when he was approaching his third overload and Deadlock had finished his fifth, did he feel the claws in his neck tighten again.

“Last round, so start slowing down, _Autobot_.” Despite his tone, Deadlock’s face was flushed bright with coolant and his optics were blitzed out and full of static. Hot Rod slowed his pace down the barest amount and tilted his helm to meet Deadlock’s optics, but he looked away first and the Autobot grinned.

“Yeah, last round on me anyway, you don’t gotta pout.” Deadlock’s face contorted in anger and he bared his denta. Hot Rod stuck his tongue out in response and flicked Deadlock’s node, the mech instantly tumbled back into sparks and static, bringing Hot Rod with him. 

They collapsed into a puddle of parts and Hot Rod didn’t try to get his spike back up - he _could’ve_ \- but if Deadlock was spent, then he wasn’t going to complain. Under him, the Decepticon was steaming lightly, cuddling Hot Rod to his chest like a toy, and truthfully, it was kinda nice. The mech was almost icy, his coolant reservoirs were working overtime and Hot Rod was almost jealous. He let go of the Decepticon’s thigh, suddenly aware of the dents under his fingers and dropped his other servo to the ground, it barely felt any cooler.

Deadlock was still shivering and Hot Rod nearly preened, it wasn’t often he got a chance to show off his more ‘personal’ skills - but he didn’t get the chance as Deadlock dropped his helm, pushing his nose into the crook of Hot Rod’s neck.

The Decepticon’s servos sluggishly pulled them closer and the mech offlined his optics with a low sigh. For a long second, Hot Rod blinked at grey plating before he realized they were _cuddling,_ like full-on-after-interface cuddling _._ Big bad Deception Deadlock liked _cuddling_ after fragging. Hot Rod would’ve laughed if he wasn’t tangled up in the mech’s arms - he liked cuddling too but he wasn’t notorious between _two_ armies.

Either way, Deadlock was comfy and the arms across his hips, and the legs crossed with his, felt nice. They already fragged, it wasn’t like it could get _weirder_ after all and Hot Rod relaxed. 

Eventually his spike softened and retracted and slipped out of Deadlock’s valve and he cringed at the fluid around his knees. Under him, Deadlock didn’t seem to mind and Hot Rod put up with it for another groon before he pushed himself up. Deadlock’s arms tightened around him briefly before they let go, and instead he followed him with hazy optics. Hot Rod looked away. He snagged out for his forgotten blaster and roughly shoved it into subspace.

“Well, uh...Thi-” 

“Stay….”

Hot Rod’s optics met Deadlock’s, oddly soft -he would never use the term _vulnerable_ with Deadlock but- he looked away as his will crumbled in an instant. It shouldn’t have and it was _dumb_ but Deadlock reached an arm out for him and Hot Rod was hopelessly drawn in. Their fingers intertwined and he nodded.

“Yeah, sure. Okay.” 

He tucked himself back against Deadlock as easily as firing a blaster and the mech sighed happily into his neck. The Decepticon’s arms tightened around him in a warm vice and Hot Rod squirmed to get comfortable. The mech was still freezing, probably would be until his coolant readjusted, and on a whim, Hot Rod grabbed a ration-tarp from his subspace and draped it around the mech. He didn’t look at the mech as he tucked it under his knees for stability against the non-existent wind.

Deadlock’s ruby red optics tracked him for a second before they blinked out as the mech dropped into recharge, for real this time. 

Hot Rod just stared at Deadlock, his mind oddly quiet. It was…..nice. Hot Rod’s own optics dimmed as he fell into a half-recharge.

It was only after a fourth summoning ping, that he riled himself back up to full power. Hot Rod stared at the recharging mech before he slowly tilted his helm to stare out into the distance. Slowly, he rolled himself to his knees and pushed himself up. He walked a few paces away, refused to look back and instantly failed. Deadlock had reached out a servo to where he was laying, his expression was soft and peaceful and Hot Rod purposefully turned away 

Instead he hopped back over that same wall from before, transformed, and sped off before he could think twice. 


End file.
